“She’s not going to like it,” said Mr. Pendanski.
“She’s not going to like anything we tell her,” said the Warden. She stared
at Zero and at the suitcase. “Why aren’t you dead yet?” she asked.
Stanley only half listened to the talk of the counselors. He didn’t know
who “that woman” was or what “A.G.” meant. He didn’t even realize they
were initials. It sounded like one word, “Age-ee.” His mind was focused on
the tiny claws that moved up and down his skin and through his hair.
He tried to think about other things. He didn’t want to die with the images
of the Warden, Mr. Sir, and the lizards etched into his brain. Instead, he tried
to see his mother’s face.
His brain took him back to a time when he was very little, all bundled up in
a snowsuit. He and his mother were walking, hand in hand, mitten in mitten,
when they both slipped on some ice and fell and rolled down a snow-covered
hillside. They ended up at the bottom of the hill. He remembered he almost
cried, but instead he laughed. His mother laughed, too.
He could feel the same light-headed feeling he felt then, dizzy from rolling
down the hill. He felt the sharp coldness of the snow against his ear. He could
see flecks of snow on his mother’s bright and cheery face.
This was where he wanted to be when he died.
“Hey, Caveman, guess what?” said Mr. Sir. “You’re innocent, after all. I
thought you’d like to know that. Your lawyer came to get you yesterday. Too
bad you weren’t here.”
The words meant nothing to Stanley, who was still in the snow. He and his
mother climbed back up the hill and rolled down again, this time on purpose.
Later they had hot chocolate with lots of melted marshmallows.
“It’s getting close to 4:30,” said Mr. Pendanski. “They’ll be waking up.”
The Warden told the counselors to return to the tents. She told them to give
the campers breakfast and to make sure they didn’t talk to anyone. As long as
they did as they were told, they wouldn’t have to dig any more holes. If they
talked, they would be severely punished.
“How should we say they will be punished?” one of the counselors asked.
“Let them use their imaginations,” said the Warden.
Stanley watched the counselors return to the tents, leaving only the
Warden and Mr. Sir behind. He knew the Warden didn’t care whether the
campers dug any more holes or not. She’d found what she was looking for.